The wizard sat upon his throne, the air still think with opium smoke. Although the drug was wearing off, he still possessed the numbness of mind, which all arcane seekers cherished. Time started slowly moving again. Empty headed, he stood up and sluggishly forced himself towards his desk, his cloak dragging behind him, slipping away, revealing its wearer's lupine form. He threw himself on his chair and opened one of many tomes – his dream journal. Eyes bloodshot and sight still fuzzy he tried to read his last entry.

“Arktul – ocean caster" 

Hideous name.

Opium abuse was no mere ritual for a wizard. It numbs the mind and body, calming the soul. In the deepest and darkest meditations, a psychonaut would transcend the earthly realms, gaining sight of a world beyond and with it, forbidden knowledge and uncanny visions. But what follows are sleepless nights filled with anxiety, panic attacks, psychotic episodes and, as some early scholars would term it, arcane madness.

 “Arktul – ocean caster"

The wizard dragged his fingers across the name, starring at it with hope of some divine vision.

He growled in frustration. There was something to that name. It was the reason for his last opium session. But there was a reason he wrote it down as well.

“Arktul – ocean caster"

His body felt less numb with time. He slowly got up and walked to his shelf, going through the numerous tomes. He settled on a book, written by a present day magician, regarding occultist from a few centuries ago. Skimming through the pages, nothing caught his eye. Nothing of importance.  He took out another book, repeating the process to no new results. He took out a third book, a fourth book, a fifth book.

“Arktul – ocean caster"

The wizard sat back at his desk, examining his dream journal. Besides those three words, the page was empty. He went a few pages back, recalling his past entries. There was nothing to link it back to the name. His mind was almost working at a regular pace. He flipped the page. On the back of it there was a scribble.

“Wishcraft."

Wishcraft. There was no memory of ever encountering that word. Nothing here made sense. He remembered seeing something horrible. But why would he write it down? Was it a message to himself? Perhaps after the initial shock, to try to remember what had conspired?

“Arktul – ocean caster"

The more he read the name, the more frustrated he became. What was Arktul? What was wishcraft? What was any of it? And then it came to him.

“Arktul – ocean caster"

He stood infront of the sea – limitless and overbearing. He gazed upward. The moon appeared as it should, but felt grotesque. He saw waves of silver streams engulfing it. He looked back at the sea. He stood as tall as it's iris. Arktul. The ocean caster. Reality is only what it seems and those who see more can do more and to do more is to craft a wish.

The wolf started hyperventilating. He dragged his claws across the desk, gritting his teeth. He was thankful for what little opium was left in his system.

“Arktul – ocean caster"

The wish of everyone who dabbles in magick is to manipulate reality in anyway they see fit. And what was brought forth to the wizard was the way to absolute manipulation. What he saw in his dream broke him, but at the same time filled him with vigor and a willingness to return to that realm and to bring about his age. An age where his rule is one and true. He would be sung for eons and immortalized with his name evoking fear, envy and awe in all who hear it. He would be supreme and equal to none. 

The doorway to his chamber opened. The light from the upper levels burnt his still sore eyes. His panic subsided. And something else arose.

-Francis? Are you sitting in the dark again? – his mother cried out.

-Leave me alone ma', I'm busy!

-Always busy, never has time for his own mother! You could have at least taken out the trash today! You are always sulking down there! When are you gonna get a job? You are thirty-five already!

-I'm a scholar ma'! I'm working right now! You wouldn't understand!

-I wouldn't understand? Betty's boy has a nice job in an office and makes enough money to support her and his own family! Do you know how I feel when the neighbors ask me what my son does?

-No, ma'…

-I feel shame! You live in my basement, you don't have a job, you've never gotten a girlfriend! When will I be a grandmother, Francis? Tell me!

His mother continued jammering. Francis dropped his head on his desk, starring at the wall, trying to shut her out.

“Arktul – ocean caster"

-…I should start a cult.